Time Suspended
by Bella Leux Bazireth
Summary: Time is suspended in the lives of the thoughtful. Includes: a pondering boy, a corridor, lack of heat, tea, and a porcelain doll, and blasphemy. In this fic, the author actually strove for eloquence. Read well. God will smite you if you do not review.
1. The Corridor

_Into the corridor with the thick stone walls_

* * *

The boy walked down the empty corridor, shivering slightly as there was no heat, just stone walls. He was partial to this corridor-- it was hardly used and especially frigid in temperature. No matter how many fires were lit in the castle, this corridor would always be cold. Cold. A word which matched his demeanor with absolute perfection. It did not matter that passing through this corridor was, quite possibly, the longest route to his classes. He welcomed the cold. He thrived in it. The boy ensconced himself in this corridor, _his _corridor, to calm his nerves, to tame his ever increasing paranoia, when the Chamber of Secrets was too much of a hassle to reach. 

However, the most comforting aspect of the dark stone was that..._he_ did not know about it. The ever present beard, as the boy called his teacher with amusement. However, in all honestly, the man _was_ quite literally a beard on sticks. The boy grimaced. It was because of this man that his paranoia was at an all time record high. The pale boy felt the urge to scream. Or **kill** something. Oh, watching another creature scream as he tortured it, and then watched as the life left its body-- it gave him the feeling of absolute power and control.

Power and control in turn gave him a sense of supreme calm. He assumed this was how God felt on a regular basis.

God. He wanted to become that. Blasphemy, this thought was. He was raised Christian. But once one was exposed to power and magic, one no longer was amazed by the natural world. These questions were answered by magic. He had no need for God.

He was his own God.

Tom Riddle walked to his next class completely calm. He was infinity on high.

* * *

The next morning...the Basilisk fed again. 


	2. The Tea

_Into the shadowy room where the fire leapt and twirled_

* * *

Tom Riddle stared at the swirling liquid brown in his porcelain cup. Earl Grey was such a difficult tea to prepare correctly. The process was most painstaking, if one wanted the perfect cup. Tom constantly strove for perfection, thus he wanted the perfect cup. He placed the loose leaves inside the pewter kettle, which he hung over the common room's fire. After brewing for a matter of minutes, he poured the contents of the kettle into his azure wedge wood cup. He poured milk into his tea with bated breath: a drop too much, and the tea lost all flavor and would become a thoroughly milky substance. A relieved sigh escaped his perfect lips as the tea turned a light shade of brown— the milk had been poured to perfection. A lump of sugar went into the tea. He stirred the liquid with a silver spoon, and sat back to enjoy his steaming drink. 

Tom looked at his watch. It was exactly five o'clock. He smirked again as he marveled at his remarkably perfect timing. He was becoming more godlike by the hour.

Placing the second azure cup on the table beside the fire, he poured the remaining tea into it. Milk was added with a splash, no steady hand to guide the pitcher. Tom Riddle was well aware of his carelessness. He ignored the sugar, preferring to add his own syrup. The thick, clear liquid was gorgeous to the taste, rendering the tongue beautifully bewitched. The dark haired boy stirred the tea with a silver spoon, as he sat back in the emerald upholstered chair. He waited.

One minute later, the portrait hole swung open. A slim blonde girl glided into the room. Her wide blue eyes glanced around the room, a smile forming on her cherubic lips as she spied Tom. He walked up to her, placing the wedge wood cup in her white hands, he led her up to her dormitory (Tom had long since learned of ways into the girl's private rooms).

The girl lay on her four poster bed. Tom stroked her hair, gently playing with its ringlets. She finished the tea, and licked her lips, delighting at the tea's sweetness. She gazed at Tom with dreamy eyes, murmuring sweet nothings as she drifted off to sleep. She was a living china doll in her repose. Tom kissed her smooth forehead, and drew the green curtains shut.

_The Lord had struck again._

* * *

Author's note: Killing gives Tom a sense of calm.  
Tom was calm when walking to class. The basililisk is a key instrument in his reign of horror. The syrup was actually poison.  
Thus, Tom killed twice.

Oh, how fascinatingly sadistic is he.

Much Love,  
Your eternal _Bella._


End file.
